


God, save me from the wrath of the Lamb

by BlueSkiedandClear



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Post 13x03, Spoilers, They lived, alternative ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23717737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSkiedandClear/pseuds/BlueSkiedandClear
Summary: They have fallen. They live. Will is searching for a bit of peace.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	God, save me from the wrath of the Lamb

**God save me from the wrath of the Lamb** ****

He had seawater in his mouth. Blood, too, but that was nothing new. Frosty sea water that invaded his throat and lungs.

Will Graham awoke. He was not at sea, but in an unknown room. Empty, but welcoming, as he observed barely turning to watch around. He was also alone. He felt stitches on his right cheekbone, on his shoulder on the same side. He felt patches and dressings strewn all over his body. Precise, well-made medications. He sighed and closed his eyes, waiting.

As expected, Hannibal Lecter entered without making a noise. He sat at his bedside, and as always, Will felt his gaze first slip on him, then scanned him, like he was a low, sandy seabed, where one sought buried antiquity.

“ Din-don, we're not dead. ” He debuted.

Will didn't want to look at him yet. He didn't feel it. He stared at the ceiling:

" It seems not" He replied. Will let the silence crawl for a few seconds, then he asked:

“ How long has it been? ”

“ Three days. I find it singularly appropriate. ” It was the answer, veined with the familiar fun with which Dr. Lecter observed the world.

"Are we dead or alive... for the outside world? >> Will asked, without wondering where they were. Maybe he would have found out, maybe not, it didn't matter.

" We're dead. Miss Lounds wrote a long obituary article after our romantic murder-suicide case. ” His eyes wouldn't leave him for a moment. He wondered how he saw him. What a recipe he would have dedicated to him.

Will turned, to reciprocate his gaze. He felt the same sense of vertigo felt on the edge of the cliff. The adrenaline of the fight pumped into him, but he felt only a quiet sense of abandonment. He had crawled into his arms and listened to him. And then he pulled him down with him.

The rest could well imagine it, and on the other hand, it had already happened at least another time.

But now things were very different.

Will Graham didn't even feel a shadow of fear anymore. His terror had remained to float in the Atlantic, and then it had sunk. Or maybe it was standing by the Dragon's body, who knows.

He went back to look at the ceiling, his heart beating a little faster.

“ What's going to happen now? ” He wanted to know.

“ You'll recover, you'll eat, you'll listen to the sea from the thick of the woods. Then we'll think about it. ” It was the answer, very pragmatic. Hannibal got up and walked to the door:

“ I'll come back later. ” He promised.

As always, he kept his promise. He returned with a jug of water and an injection of morphine.

No drugs, he assured. No flash. Now you belong only to yourself, he guaranteed.

For the next day, Will was able to leave the bed.

It was a small house, much more modest than the villa on the cliff, but he preferred it. It made him feel more covered, God only knew from what. It was surrounded by the woods, and at some distance from the ocean. Clearly one could hear the undertow among the trees, the smell of salty mixed well with the resin.

He spent who knows how many days sitting outside, with the company of smell and hearing.

Hannibal was present as a recurring thought, but discreet as a dream. They never spoke, for days. The only signs of his real existence were the pungent melody of the harpsichord, the vague cobblestone of kitchen instruments, the artificial whisper of the Theremin.

For the rest, Will could delude himself that he was alone. All the people of his previous life seemed millions of miles away, as if he were the only survivor on a desert island. He was sorry to leave that island. It was all so calm there.

Hannibal left him alone, patiently. If he wanted to see him, he'd go looking for him in the Palatine Chapel. They sat in front of the altar, under the eyes of Christ the Pantocrator. There was no need to speak, the words would come then, when Will had let go of his old life in the ocean. Hannibal changed his dressings, fed him, brought him clothes changes and let him go, with memories. It was no different than picking up a stray from the street, after all. Like the dogs he adopted, Will had to learn to trust.

At first he went away from the house, then he began to approach, and each time Hannibal thought he had thrown a different piece into the sea. He began to resemble the vision he had of him. Looking at Will, Hannibal felt a growing sense of satisfaction, typical of when a great job was done. He had tried many other times, but as always happens in the scientific field, several failures must be tolerated before a result is achieved. But in the end, the pride of creation was a more satisfying reward than frustration with failed attempts. He had found the perfect matter to shape his own shadow.

Will began to enter the hall with the harpsichord almost by accident. He sat in the darkness, in a corner, listening. After a while, he had learned to recognize Hannibal's style, to understand how he played, when he barely stopped, when he started again. He was never interrupted by his entrance, but when he finished, he always sat for a few moments, shing his shoulders. Then he left. Will stayed in the dark, and he often fell asleep there.

He also came in when Hannibal played the Theremin, but that was a more elusive instrument than the classic and reassuring harpsichord. It almost sounded like a human voice, and it broke the sense of loneliness. He pointed out that Hannibal was there, and he could no longer pretend he wasn't there.

Then, he looked at him, as he played, as he prepared food for them, as he read. He reserved the same study he had dedicated to him, and discovered, with enormous relief, that he did not resemble the vision he had of him. Hannibal was reflected in a mirror, but it wasn't his old image. He was strong, sharp, a better version of himself. He understood that it was what Hannibal had always tried to show him, but that he could not see. He had removed his veil from in front of his eyes and had taken him out of the cave.

Theremin's note faded faintly into the darkness, when Will spoke:

“ Who created that instrument, I dare say he had someone like you in mind, if it were ever possible.” He remarked.

Hannibal held back a smile:

“ The Theremin is a synesthetic instrument, it gives the ability to touch the sound. Do you see me untouchable, Will? ” He asked, without turning around.

“ We have already touched each other, several times, but never to really communicate. It would be as if, instead of passing our fingers away from the wand, we rubbed them over, producing a nice nothing. ” Will rejoined.

This time, Hannibal really smiled, and turned, when he approached him. Will sat down giving his back to Theremin:

“ You hid my illness from me. You made me think I killed and ate Abigail. You had me locked up in a criminal asylum. You sent Randall to kill me. You gutted me and killed Abigail in front of me. You shot me and tried to eat my brain. You sent that Dolarhyde beast to kill my family.

They all seem to me to be very bad attempts at communication.” He listed, in a surprisingly light tone.

Hannibal stared at him:

“ You put a gun in my face at least twice. You sent the nurse to hang me. You systematically refused every gift I gave to you. You watched as Verger and then Dolarhyde tried to kill me. But you intervened. ” Hannibal remarked: “ Maybe you wanted to communicate more than you think yourself, Will. ”

“It was a side of me I didn't know yet. It'd always been there, but I didn't know how... Express it.”

He retorted, looking away.

“ Now you know it. ” Hannibal pointed out to him.

Will went back to look at him:

“ Now I know. ” He agreed, “ Are you going to eat me? ” He resumed, after a break.

“ Not at all. You are the hero of the story, the knight who defeated the Dragon. You've stopped being the cow to which it's inconvenient to feel compassion. Who would eat their own kind? ” Hannibal replied.

Will looked away again and snorted. Already being compared to his like was certainly an advantage.

In the days of his solitary meditation in the woods, it was as if he had left behind a burden. He felt exposed, naked, still on the edge of the cliff. He constantly wondered what he should do, instead of tried to kill them. He had never felt so alive, so complete, as when he confessed to Hannibal that everything he was feeling was beautiful. That they shared it together. That he showed it to him in the end.

The truth was, he never wanted to be anywhere other than by his side.

He had already understood it, but he didn't want to admit it, simply.

He still wondered how he had succeeded, actually. He wanted to tell him, but in the hundreds of thousands of words they had already used, there was nothing that resembled his idea of a coherent concept, which he wanted to put into practice.

Slowly, he turned to him and placed his head on his shoulder, as if at the top of the cliff. There was nowhere to fall this time, except a metaphorical one. Literal.

He felt his arm around his hip and his head bending towards his neck, just like at that moment. He knew he was breathing him.

“Always the usual, hideous aftershave.” He commented, in fact.

“I didn't find any more, among my stuff,” Will rejoined.

“ On you, it's not so bad. It always allows me to recognize you. As the pack leader knows that his mate is among others, even if he does not see him. ” Hannibal declared.

Will departed from him, and looked at him in the face. He could not give his eyes a more explicit expression.

Hannibal got up and took him by the hand, and he let himself be led.

The room was imbued with the smell of the woods, almost intoxicating. Salty, resin, and dark, almost total, had not been for the moon.

Hannibal began to undress Will methodically, calmly, as usual. The haste and the low instincts could spoil everything, they were ingredients to be dosed in very small quantities.

His smell came to him like a balm, holding between his tongue and the palate, simmering. He undressed in turn, with the same tranquility, and did not look at him. He would have had time and way of contemplating him more comfortable.

They lay in front of each other, and Hannibal thought about how many nights had Achilles and Patroclus spent, lying on the hard sand of Troy, with the sea breeze floating the tent and the pale Selene at guard, as if sighing on sleeping Endymion.

Wet with moonlight, Will Graham really looked like a marble statue. Hannibal stretched his fingers to slide them on his side, then canceled the distance. He belted him with one arm, lifted him, and sank his fingers into his hair, which he barely pulled, to expose his throat. Not so much as to hurt him, he would have been pouring salt on an already savory dish. He must have been tired of the pain. He wanted to serve him some other way.

Will gasped slightly when he felt his head pull back, but he was more delicate than he expected. He knew Hannibal had a delicate touch, and not only with his hands.

His lips on his forehead, where he had the long scar that Hannibal himself had left, seemed to be the blend of moth wings. He heard him follow the length of the sign, then descend to his cheek, on a fresher wound, where the Dragon had sunk the dagger. Then down, along the jaw line:

“ Don't you dare shave too much. Looks like a coyote fur.” He heard him murmuring.

Will wouldn't have been surprised if Hannibal had actually touched a coyote at some point in his strange life.

Hannibal's mouth continued his grazed journey on the other cheek, then on the closed eyelids, where he tasted for a moment the natural tremor, then on the eyebrow and forehead. From there, he went down to the right, to his ear, the same one he had cut at Abigail, and the outer hem followed. Then down his neck, avoiding his throat, he turned behind, climbed around the last cervical vertebra, pushed his head just forward, and Will felt him sink his nose in his hair, and inhale deeply.

It was like moving someone out of, but slightly more cooperative. He passed behind his back, and he stood a little with his nose and fingers in his hair. Then he went back to slide his lips down his neck and shoulders. He wondered if he had any idea how anatomically perfect they were. He counted one by one the rings of his spine, and stopped at the kidneys. He carried his hands from his shoulders to his hips, to come back in front of him again, and he pulled his head back another time.

He started again from the jugular, snatching a first, faint groan and descended down the sternum, on his stomach, around his navel. Will knew what he was looking for, and he heard him smile against his skin when he stroked the long scar on his belly. The smile that had left him his Nakama.

It really excited him to know him branded that way.

He licked it, walking through that flap of skin as if it tasted different from the rest.

Will hadn't realized for all that time that he was breathing hard. He noticed when Hannibal left his hair and looked him in the eyes, stroking his cheek. He kissed him with an unimaginable kindness, touching his lips almost not to make him feel contact, and Will started panting.

His mouth was full of sea water again, now, but there was no blood, for once. Hannibal's tongue wrapped around his like a hot snake, he retracted, he came back to look for it. He held it with his teeth for a second, now and then.

He later began to bite his lips, very slowly, and Will again had the feeling of being tasted. He wasn't literally eating him, but sublimated, that instinct was always there. He wanted to have his fingers back in his hair, while in turn stroking his back and shoulders.

Hannibal was continuing to play with his mouth, sliding his tongue over his teeth, as if to invite him to bite, and during a brief separation, to catch their breath, he heard Will say:

“ I'm afraid you're going to rip my tongue off. ”

He did not stop kissing him, but alternated the answer between one kiss and the other:

“You're making it... better use, I would say. If there's one thing... among the many... I like you, Will... is that you never speak out of turn. You... can keep your tongue... and all the rest. ” He assured.

He went down his throat, kissing Adam's pome and the collarbone pit, while Will said, amid the pantings:

“ You must have eaten... The tongue, ah... of hundreds of-talking chatter.”

“ I'll give you the recipe.” Hannibal promised him, biting his shoulder, and dropping his hand between his thighs.

Hands like those, firm, which knew how to draw and fillet, make origami and butcher, it was only barely intuitive what they could do to excite and stimulate.

It was one of the moments Will had most dreaded: caressed in an unbearably sweet and clever way, arched his back and threw his head back. Between his parted lips, he whispered a well audible:

“ Oh, God...”

“ He's not here unless you're referring to me.” Hannibal informed him, while meticulously engaged in masturbating him, with a touch so slight, that he looked like he was using a feather to do so.

Will came almost suddenly, in hot and white splashes, literally falling into Hannibal's arms, who picked him up. He wrapped his legs around his hips and stretched out, tipping over the roles.

Will recalled an old fantasy, where he punched him, astride him.

This time, however, he bent down and began to kiss him again. Far less finely than he had, he searched his mouth greedily, weaved his fingers at his, holding him down, and let himself slide down to his cock. He swallowed it, wondering how a cannibal felt to be tasted. He investigated him with his tongue and teeth, running him the entire length.

From how Hannibal reacted, sighing and panting, getting eaten had to please him as to eat, quite unexpectedly.

When he finally came, Will began to prepare his way inside him, suddenly remembering a terribly vulgar outing with Bedelia. He had to be forgiven one time or the other, he decided. Hannibal would certainly have approved of it.

Will had no idea what his sex life had been like, but the way he arched his hips, ready to welcome him, told him that it must have been more varied than he imagined.

The act itself was rather quick and fairly impersonal, in fact, but Will Graham felt a quiet sense of power, in taking control.

Elegant in everything, Dr. Lecter was also at the climax of pleasure. Will listened to him, thinking it reminded him of the growl of a wolf wrapped in silk.

With a gasp, his chest rising and lowering, Will separated from him gently and looked at him, beneath his body. He had a blurred look, and shining with sweat, he looked like a mystic in ecstasy or a beast at last tamed.

He preferred the second, as he lay next to him and placed his head on his shoulder, as if at the top of the cliff.

Will imagined that the bed was surrounded by the sea, so that he could pull them both down, but that impulse vanished when Hannibal's fingers crawled through his hair.

Will Graham awoke alone, with the sun invading the room. For a long moment, he looked around, then grabbed his pants, well folded on a chair, wore them and went out.

He found him in the kitchen, of course. When he heard him coming, Hannibal looked up:

“Good morning, Will. Breakfast. ” He ordered in a light tone.

Will found himself in front of a tray with cheese, honey, white currants, a cup of something he turned out to be green coffee, still lukewarm brown bread and a slice of ham.

Always polite, Hannibal waited for him to start eating before serving himself. The honey was golden, raw, with clustered crystals and some traces of wax. Definitely exquisite.

They ate for a while in silence, in the sleepy calm of the morning, then at one point, Hannibal announced:

“ I think we should leave tomorrow. This place is safe enough and we are dead, but one doesn't never knows.” He explained.

Will looked at him:

“ Where should we go? ” Asked, not very surprised to have immediately included himself in the discussion.

“ Cuba. I have a place there, and for many reasons it is much safer for us than other places. If you're sure to come with me.” He added, after a moment of hesitation.

“ There's nowhere else I'd like to go.” Will replied, in a firm tone. He looked at him, the memories of the last night vivid in his mind. Better than getting stabbed or shooting all the time, definitely. He reached out and took one of his hand:

“ I'll be with you, Hannibal. ” He promised.

Hannibal thought only about his lips, shiny with honey.

Later, with a glass of excellent wine in his hands, Will Graham walked out to sea.

He leaned off the cliff and looked down. He felt a kind of nostalgia for the version of him who died in the fall. He lifted the cup and toasted, ideally. Then he turned, and went back.

He never looked behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> As you see, I translated this one, too.


End file.
